Prettier Than Anything I'd Write
by The Brat Prince
Summary: It gets so much worse two days later, when Kendall calls across the pool, "Hey Logan. Did you get any on prom night?" Based on BTProm Kings.


**Prettier Than Anything I'd Write**

A/N: Originally posted June 20, 2011. Based on this prompt from **jblostfan16** : _"And, uh, heh. If we're talking about prompts, you should probably write about that one time that James became Prom Queen and Kendall teased him mercilessly about it until... well, you can decide form there. ;D"_. Yes, she got two fills. Why? Because she asked nice. And she writes me porn. Titled for Listen (Listen, Listen) by Wintersleep, which is way more subdued than this story.

* * *

"So. Prom Queen."

"Shut up," James mumbles, face buried in the cushions of the couch. Orange does not suit his skin tone at all, but he can't even be bothered to care because he _knew_ this would happen. The second they left Gustavo's stupid dance, James instituted a ban on ever speaking about the night again.

Kendall doesn't know how to listen.

"No, but. Queen of the Prom."

James groans. "I still beat you."

"Uh, no you _didn't_."

"I got a crown."

"You got a _tiara_. Hookers on Sepulveda Boulevard have tiaras."

"It's a crown."

"And the way it sparkles is so lovely," Kendall smirks.

"I really hate you." Without bothering to look, James throws a pillow in the general direction of Kendall's voice. From the sound of glass breaking, James guesses he misses Kendall's stupid face by a mile.

"Hurtful." James can feel the couch settle beneath him, Kendall's butt against his legs. "Real ladies use their words, _Jamie_."

James's head jerks up, and he trains his best bitch glare on Kendall, growling, "_Don't_ call me a lady."

Kendall's eyes are dancing. He says, "Well what should I call you then? Her Royal Highness? Your _majesty_?"

"Do you want to die?"

"I'm so scared, Jamie," Kendall says mockingly. "So. Scared."

James attempts to smother him with another couch cushion, but Kendall was captain of the hockey team for a reason. He's a quick bastard.

He's also persistent.

* * *

It starts out with little things, like when Kendall holds open the door for James with a gallant, "No, no, no. Ladies first."

And then it progresses. Like when Kendall yells across the studio, "Hey James! The dress- did you have to wear a thong with that, or go commando?"

James's cheeks immediately flush. Half the techs are laughing their asses off, and those that aren't have mirth dancing in their eyes, like they're just barely holding the snorts back.

He hears Logan make a pained noise that sounds like a choked chuckle and he whirls on him. "Don't you _dare_ tell him."

Logan immediately sobers and he says, "N-no. Of course not."

James does not for a second believe him. Logan is like, Kendall's fucking _minion_. If Kendall wants to pry it out of him, he'll cave.

James decides to proceed with dignity. So, with dignity, he runs out of the studio like his life depends on it.

It gets so much worse two days later, when Kendall calls across the pool, "Hey Logan. Did you get any on prom night?"

"What?" Logan squeaks, turning bright red. His gaze darts to Camille, who crosses her arms and frowns at him.

Kendall looks pointedly at James and says, "Isn't it traditional for the prom queen to put out?"

"Woohoo, Logan, _get it_," Carlos yells from one side of the pool, winking at Kendall.

James decides that he is going to murder him. BTR will be fine with three members, and he's pretty sure that Katie and Mrs. Knight will understand. They've probably wanted to kill Kendall at least once or twice in his life. How could they not have? He's such a smug bastard.

James feels better for about two seconds when he pushes Kendall _into_ the pool. The feeling only lasts those two seconds because Kendall pulls James in after him, laughing. He splashes James in the face when he surfaces and says, "Dude, I get it, I get it. A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

James then attempts to drown him. He's very calm about the whole thing; holding Kendall under until the surface of the water begins to bubble. Unfortunately, Carlos, Logan, and Guitar Dude decide to be assholes. Their combined efforts manage to pull James away.

And Kendall? Just won't stop laughing and humming off key to _God Save The Queen_.

Jerk.

* * *

It's the last straw when Kendall requisitions a limo from unnamed sources and parks it in front of the lobby right around the time James takes his daily evening jog.

Kendall's leaning on the door, holding it wide open for James with a jackass smile and a casual, "After you, princess."

That's when James decides murder is not good enough for Kendall.

He tackles him, maneuvering him around the back of the limo door and pushing him inside. Kendall topples back on one of the leather seats, smirking all the while.

James does not appreciate that smirk. It's kind of hot, and he's trying really hard to be pissed off, here.

"Call me princess again, and I swear to fucking god, I will take you down," James swears against the skin of Kendall's cheekbone.

Kendall's smile dimples and he says, "You think you can? You might break a nail."

"I know I can."

His breathing's gone ragged, and he doesn't know what he wants, but he knows it has something to do with proving a point to Kendall, trapped beneath him. Kendall gives him this look that is clearly a challenge.

James _never _turns down a challenge.

Still smirking, Kendall loops his foot through the limo's door handle, pulling it shut with a shift of his leg. He presses a thumb to the intercom and yells to the driver to _go, already_. And then he turns to James, thrusting his hips up suggestively and says, "Show me what you've got. _Princess_."

James growls, crashing his lips against Kendall's and kissing him like he's hoping to actually force all the snark from his being through sheer willpower. Kendall arches up into it, his lips soft and malleable against James's. His tongue is dipping into James's mouth, running a line over his lower lip, his teeth; fighting for dominion. James has _years_ of practice at trying to one up Kendall Knight, but he refuses to sit back and let him win. Not this time.

He cups his hands against Kendall's cheeks, taking control of the kiss, slowing it down, even when Kendall exhales a shaky laugh and mumbles, "'M not gonna break."

Of that, James is acutely aware. Kendall's body is a hard line beneath him, stretched long and languid across the limo's horizontal bench seats. James spares a glance at the one running vertically and thinks that they'd probably have more room to stretch out over there, but he can't really be bothered to move. He likes having Kendall pinned beneath him. It's not something he gets to enjoy outside of brief tussles on the rink or, more recently, on the couch, over the remote control. James bends down and kisses him again, a little rougher, but still just as slow.

Kendall makes this noise in the back of his throat, too eager, too impatient. Kendall's never been able to wait for a good thing. He like instant gratification.

Too bad. James feels like this is an opportune time to test up how much of Kendall's stamina on the ice translates into other areas. He strokes down the front of Kendall's shirt, fingers sliding over muscle and bone and ugly cotton poly blend, pausing to flick at the nub of his nipple while simultaneously nipping at his lip. Kendall tries to lick into his mouth, tries to buck his hips up. James holds him down, refusing to let him move, even though Kendall's dick is painfully hard; pressed into the front of his thigh. He takes his time, kissing Kendall for so long that he feels like he's drowning in his breath, in his body, in the way he smells so completely familiar, like coming home.

James rucks Kendall's shirt up around his armpits, moving his lips from his mouth to his sternum and down lower, to Kendall's center, to his core. He likes the idea that this is the place that keeps Kendall balanced; that this is where all of his dance moves come from. He sucks little kisses into Kendall's skin, not hard enough to leave a mark, but just rough enough that Kendall can't make any stupid comparisons to the way a girl would kiss.

When this is over, James wants Kendall to remember the scrape of his stubble and the way he was completely _owned._

When this is over, Kendall will never dare to call James a fucking princess ever again.

He reaches a problem when he gets down to Kendall's jeans. He's licking a line along the waistband of the denim, watching Kendall watch him with baited breath and wide green eyes. But.

Something that James never realized before is that limos aren't exactly created for sex. Which is stupid, really. People only rent the things to get laid. Ideally, every single one of the vehicles should be stocked with lube and condoms. It's common sense.

Unfortunately, whoever masterminded the limo is not as business savvy as James (and isn't that novel). They didn't stock up on any of the necessities, and they weren't very forward thinking with their interior design. If there was a girl in the equation, it might work out better, but neither of them have conveniently located vaginas. The bench seats are pretty wide, but one half of James body is all pushed up against the sticky hot leather and the other half is practically falling onto the floor. Which is actually considerably wider.

James glances back and forth between Kendall and the floor and makes a split second decision.

"Ow, man, what the fuck-?" Kendall cuts off, groaning into James's mouth as James climbs down to where he shoved Kendall. Except the floor's not exactly comfortable either, and every time the car hits a bump in the road, James can see Kendall wince.

So James then proceeds to make the executive decision to pull Kendall up by the collar of his t-shirt and haul him onto his knees. Kendall's butt is sticking straight up into the air, and kneeling, James is at just the right height to bend him over the side of the seat and do whatever he wants with him. He can even brace his feet against the little mini bar. It's a perfect set up.

"James," Kendall says, starting to sound worried, but James ignores him, yanking his pants low around his thighs. He helps Kendall out of his shirt and returns to the very serious business of kissing every inch of his torso. His back is a much wider canvas to work with.

"Suck these," James orders, wiggling one of his hands in front of Kendall's face. He mouths along one of his shoulder blades, reveling in the way the wing of it flexes when Kendall tries to turn and look at him.

"What?"

"_Suck_," James commands again, very busy kissing the shape of a mole closer to Kendall's shoulder. He emphasizes his point by dragging one of his fingers against Kendall's upper lip, nudging at the opening below. Kendall tenses, and he's obviously considering arguing, which won't do at all. Isn't he the one who made all those stupid Queen jokes? What's the point of having a regent if you won't _listen _to him?

"Bow to your Queen, bitch," James growls. He slips one finger past Kendall's lips, hooking it into the side of his mouth before Kendall gives in, sliding his tongue across the digit. He does three of James's fingers in turn, tight suction and the wet slide of saliva before James pull away. He's focused now, his mouth still mapping the freckles across Kendall's back, his other hand fumbling to release the pressure on his own sweatpants. Kendall shivers as James works his way down the notches of his spine, making a little noise the moment James's fingers trail wet down the curve of his ass.

He starts out with one finger, working past tight muscle to the tight, hot, silken parts inside of Kendall. From the way Kendall winces, James can tell that no one has ever done this to him before. He knows he shouldn't, but he likes that. There are so many things that Kendall has done on his own, being dauntless and brave, and James is into the idea of being one of his firsts. This is a part of Kendall that he will always own.

James uses his free hand to push the jersey sweats and his boxers down in one swoop. He presses up against Kendall's back, reaching around with the same free hand to start an easy rhythm against Kendall's cock. It's not as hard as it was when they were just grinding against each other, intimidated by the sharp, uncomfortable pain from James probing inside of him. As soon as James touches him though, it's like Kendall's whole body stands at attention again. He's not so focused on the way James is slowly prying him apart, not when his dick's getting just as much attention.

James waits until the burn of it has simmered down and then works in another finger. At first he settles for an easy rhythm, one pump, and then two, matched by a slick slide of his fist over Kendall's cock. He gets a little rougher with it when he thinks Kendall can take it. Experimentally, James tries to scissor his fingers. Kendall squirms against him, wincing a little at the stretch, and James squeezes the hand over his dick to distract him, creating his own kind of suction. . Kendall's head thumps forwards onto the leather seat, mouth opening in a gasp.

"God, you don't have to be so fucking gentle-" Kendall's voice cuts off as James jabs in again, harder, with another finger, doing whatever he can to shut Kendall up.

"What was that?" James crooks his fingers, craning his head so he can watch Kendall gasp and swallow. "Nothing to say now?"

Kendall opens his mouth, obviously about to snort something sarcastic, but James shifts his fingers again, thrusting in deep and the laughter dies in his throat. Kendall shakes his head, squirming against James's hand.

It takes a while before Kendall's ready for James's dick. James is good at finding his prostate, good at rubbing against it until Kendall's trying to thrust back onto his fingers, wanting it so much that he forgets himself. But as much as James wants to teach him a lesson, he doesn't want to hurt him. Until this moment, James hasn't really been paying much attention to himself or the heady lust he's been keeping in check. His desire has almost turned languorous. It's only when he allows himself to let go of Kendall's cock, ignoring his soft, choked cry of protest that it rushes front and center.

James licks his own palm, tasting the salt of Kendall's pre-come and the sweat of his skin on his tongue. Fingers still buried deep inside of Kendall, he runs his other palm against the skin of his own cock. The action is familiar, but the idea that he's rubbing a little bit of Kendall's desire all along his flesh isn't. It's new and exciting and not really ever something James thought he'd get to do.

He withdraws his fingers from Kendall's ass, again ignoring the noise that the blond makes in favor of lining up his own dick with Kendall's asshole. Kendall has braced one hand against the leather back of the bench seats, and he turns his head just a little to dart a glance back at James. His pupils are huge, blown wide with lust and need and a little bit of fear. James props both of his hands on Kendall's hips, right next to the dimpled skin above his ass.

Kendall's skin is a paler color James's. He watches the contrast between Kendall's flesh and his own knuckles while he forces the head of his cock inside of his best friend.

"James," Kendall breathes, shaky. It sounds a little pained and a little awed. James inches his way in, letting the hitches in Kendall's breath control the pace here, just for now. When he's fully settled inside of Kendall, he stays, watching the rise and fall of Kendall's spine and the flush that's crawling from his shoulders to his neck to the tips of his ears. He leans down on instinct, planting a kiss right between Kendall's shoulder blades. He wraps his hands around Kendall's waist and asks, "Okay?"

"Yeah. I think- yeah," Kendall says, sinking back against him, muscle tightening reflexively.

It makes James's hips jerk forward, and Kendall grunts, falling forward again to steady himself against the leather. James lets one of his hands drift down to grasp Kendall's hipbone, his other still splayed against his stomach when he thrusts in again, the movement practically involuntary. Inside of Kendall it's wet, smooth, burning heat like nothing that James is used to, and every time he tries to pull back it's like he gets sucked right back into it. So he rocks forward into that heat, angling himself against Kendall's body until he cries out for it, until Kendall's back is arching and his head is practically craned onto James's shoulder while he fucks himself onto James's dick in a way that makes James's eyes cross. He's so fucking wanton for it, losing himself in the feeling of being fucked, losing himself in every inch of James burning inside of him.

James nips at his ear, tracing his tongue along the shell of it while he pushes hard against Kendall's hipbone, his chest, propelling himself forward until he's buried in his tight body. He can feel Kendall trembling now, can feel the strain in the way he keeps arching up, back, trying to get more. James grunts and moves his hand from Kendall's chest to his back, pressing down on his spine, on his center to keep him forward. And then, with both hands on Kendall's hips, he fucks into him in earnest, until it's no longer a slow burn but a rhythm like a bass drum. Over the muted roar of the highway outside, James can hear the combined rasp-pant of their breaths, the slap his balls make every time he fucks deep into Kendall, and the squeak of his sneakers against the shiny fiberglass of the minibar. He surges forward again, trying to turn the jerky pounding into an actual rhythm, like a song, like he can coax both of their orgasms from their bodies in a wailing crescendo.

James rocks forward, running one hand along the ridges of Kendall's back, muscle and bone, up to his neck, his hairline. He fucks in, touches Kendall's jaw, cups his cheek. He thrusts and moves back down, skimming across his collarbone, his nipple, his abdomen and it's a steady melody between them, a one two count of fuck, touch, fuck, touch, fuck. He smoothes his palm across the indent of Kendall's hipbone again, the other hand that never strayed mirroring the movement. And then he rubs his thumb against the head of Kendall's cock, biting his own tongue when Kendall's body stiffens around him.

He wraps his fingers around the shaft, making a fist that Kendall can fuck into every time James fucks into him. He tastes blood and he feels his orgasm quivering at the edge of his vision. He knows he's supposed to last longer than this, but fuck, he's not used to having his hockey captain, his hero, his sometimes tormentor split wide open for him, practically yelling his name in one long run-on sentence, saying, "JamesJames_James_James."

The limo hits a bump and it's like Kendall's whole body turns to stone for a split second, like his blood freezes in his veins, ass tightening hard around James's cock while he's buried as far in as he can possibly go, and then he's cumming just as hard all over James's hand, a deluge of white hot pleasure burning against his skin. James is still rolling his hips, once, twice, three times against the tidal wave of Kendall's orgasm, but he doesn't last. Maybe it's this, the very idea that James is the one who made Kendall; perfect, courageous, powerful Kendall come with a whimper that has James following him right over the edge, still sheathed inside of him, forehead resting against the back of his neck. James breathes bliss into Kendall's skin, breathes Kendall's name and all the things that he feels at this moment into his flesh while he shudders against him, dick twitching, desire electric sparks in his vision.

Kendall slumps forward against the seats and James is forced to withdraw, untangling himself from Kendall's body when they hit the off ramp for- somewhere. Kendall lazily rolls onto his side, and James slouches against him. He tries to come back to himself, forehead resting against Kendall's chest, watching the way his breath moves the golden trail of hair leading down to Kendall's spent cock. "Where did you get this limo, anyway?"

Kendall's body shifts, and he's stretching, shrugging. His jeans are obviously an uncomfortable nuisance around his thighs, and James wonders if he should pull his own sweats up or get them the rest of the way off. It feels like too much effort to move.

"It was waiting to pick up some future famous kid for an acting gig. Studio sent it."

James frowns. "Which studio?"

"No idea," Kendall grins.

He kisses the top of James head and James snuggles closer into his chest, suddenly worried. "So where are we going right now?"

"No idea," Kendall shrugs again, totally carefree.

Of course he is. Kendall has nothing that resembles fear.

"Dude." James moans. "Dude. Why do you always end up getting us into trouble?"

"No, don't worry," Kendall loops an arm around James, leaning down to kiss his lips. James sighs into it, perfectly content for the first time in days.

Right up until Kendall murmurs, "They'll be happy to meet the Quee- _ow_."


End file.
